


Stormswept

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Hopes and Dreams, Inspired by Art, Keith is a storm all his own, M/M, Mild spoiler for S2, Shiro is hopeless, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: Keith is a force of a nature all his own, and Shiro its willing captive.(Inspired by this wonderful piece of art)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kinda fell in love with this piece made by @lenomurasan and wanted very much to write something about this one bit of a moment that had been portrayed. Which is what led me to this. The art is lovely and the thought behind it fantastic and it was love at first sight. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Along the horizon a sun burns as bright as a funeral pyre, a brilliant orange-red blazing in farewell. Beside him, Keith is as quiet as night’s last breath, his gaze fixed on the burning haze, on the clouds that are closing in, dark and restless. A perfect exercise in patience. His leans into his forearms, resting over his knees with wrists lax and fingers playing upon the breeze; his shoulders hunch forward ever so slightly, accompanied by the pulse of a smile, wistful, upon his lips. The wind kicks up a sudden fuss then, making a wonderful mess of his hair.

Shiro has half a desire to tame it, smoothing those dark locks against the back of Keith’s neck. Ever the reminder that he is here.

“Did you ever imagine anything like this?”

The question is unexpected, but honest in its asking. Shiro can only blink at first, head canting to the side as he studies Keith’s profile and the slight part of his lips that remains in the wake of his words, as though he hadn’t quite finished with his thoughts. He plucks at a blade of grass (or something similar as it is this odd purple-blue instead of brilliant spring green and far more tender) and follows the line of Keith’s gaze, beyond the dying farewell of a star and catching the half-moon hanging in the sky just above it. A mere shard of a planet, if he remembers correctly, but digging up memories for them both of a place not so long-forgotten.

But Shiro would rather focus on the bit of home at his side instead of the one lost millions of miles away.

“If you asked me before that mission?” Shiro muses, his gaze drifting from the sky back to Keith. And he cannot help but smile at the small furrow Keith’s brow has dug for itself. “Only in some B-grade sci-fi movie plot, maybe. It’s not like we hadn’t considered the possibility of other life forms. Maybe it was that dream we were chasing among so many others. But after the Galra. . .”

Shiro curls the fingers of his right hand, letting the bit of something-like-grass flutter from his fingertips. “How could I not. . .?”

Keith’s gaze drops, scouting the soil before him, and finding nothing worthy of a distraction, turns his eyes towards Shiro. There are questions there, buried beneath a well-known concern, and Shiro finds himself offering up a small shrug for all they would have asked of him.

“But here we are. Planet by planet, trying to undo centuries worth of domination. . .”

“We’re not doing so bad,” Keith murmurs, his gaze locked on Shiro’s, searching. “. . . _You’re_ not doing so bad.”

And Shiro could almost hate the way Keith’s gaze dives into his own, sinking as far into the shadows as he would dare to go. Hate it because he’s not sure he wants to bring Keith down into those sorts of places, horror-made and sleep-depriving. But the thing is, Shiro has never found that sort of fear in Keith. Not when it comes to him. He pushes and he pulls and he never really lets go. He is instinct-fueled, and just when Shiro thinks he has managed to put something past him, Keith is looking at him like he’s entirely undone, nothing more than a man.

Not a commander. Not an idol.

A simple human being. It puts the twist in Shiro’s heart, the smile on his lips. And it is then that Shiro remembers what it means to be fearless.

He laughs suddenly, quiet and defeated. It’s a loss he willingly suffers. “I can only keep trying.”

Keith nods then, letting his arms slip from his knees and planting his palms against the ground. His fingers flex against the dirt, a rich, life-giving black in color that coats the tips of his Paladin suit.

“It really is a lot like Earth, isn’t it?”

Shiro leans back and settles on his elbows, legs stretched out before him. He watches Keith from the corner of his eye, at the way his gaze deepens, soaked in memory and all that it might promise him. And there is something about the way Keith lets himself drown in these moments, away from the chaos and the expectations of all they have become, and somehow finds himself in the midst of it all.

“Yeah. . .it is,” Shiro answers, quietly. Beside him, Keith shifts but keeps his gaze firm on the ground before him. “But I guess if you were to ask Slav, the probability of us finding something similar to home is far more likely than –“ 

At that, Shiro can’t help but scrunch up his nose, his expression falling flat as a souvenir penny, those ones he had gotten as a kid at those random road-stops ( _Welcome to the world’s greatest_. . ) that seemed so grand in their making and ended up doing nothing but taking up space in his wallet. He clears his throat, still unable to shake out the frown that had contorted his lips. “. . .Well, more likely than a whole lot of things.”

“Are you ever going to get over that?” Keith asks, a laugh spiking his question.

“I’ve never wanted to throw something across the room so badly in my life. . .” Shiro admits, trying not to grin though the memory of Slav is all but agonizing to his soul. Like the scorch of sand beneath your feet, the necessary evil to be overcome just to reach the relief of the ocean.

Keith is laughing in full then, and trying, albeit terribly, to stifle it behind the cover of his knees. And it has Shiro falling apart in the wake of it, unable to keep the sounds from parting his lips and joining Keith’s in its amusement. Their eyes meet as the laughter dies, and Shiro is left smiling despite it all.

“If we ever make it back to Earth –“

“ _When_ we make it back,” Shiro corrects him, confident and full of a certainty he doesn’t quite acknowledge for himself.

But Keith still smiles, the curve of his mouth stunning in its honesty. “All right. _When_ we make it back to Earth, is there anything you really want to do?”

Shiro rolls himself back up, his gaze flicking to the sky as the darkness of the impending storm swallows the sun’s fading light. Thunder crackles on the horizon.

“You know, getting to watch some B-grade sci-fi flick doesn’t sound half bad. But only if the popcorn is a bit stale. . .”

The wind picks up, sharp and clear, ruffling Keith’s hair with renewed fury. Never has Shiro seen something so unbridled, so beautifully untamed.

“And the Coke a little flat. . .” Keith continues, his head tilting towards Shiro’s, mischief on his lips.

All around them, the grass trembles, waves of purple and blue streaming over the land. The wind whines, a low keening sound. Shiro reaches out, letting his fingers slink into the spaces left by Keith’s, and watches as the dirt churns around his fingertips.

“Sounds like a perfect date.”

Red flashes bright along Keith’s cheekbones. His gaze dips again, though his head remains mere inches away from Shiro’s. Thunder echoes over them and Keith is suddenly laughing, his gaze fire-lit as it shoots for the skies, as he quickly jumps to his feet and pulls Shiro along without a second thought. 

And Shiro rises, swift and easy, to meet Keith where he stands, where he wanted him to be.

That is when the rain begins to fall. Slow but cutting at first, smacking over their skin, a faint chill igniting where it hits. Shiro glances above, at the clouds looming, promising hell and high water, all the makings of a brilliant summer storm. They had always been brief, but just a bit wicked on Earth. With just enough power to awe and put the shiver to your spine. 

When he returns his attention to Keith, it’s to find him standing there, positively electric. The wind tousles his hair, twisting and twirling the strands like some maddening dervish, putting the spark right into Keith’s gaze.

Lips part, water-slick. Keith exhales, breathless and beautiful. “When was the last time you felt the rain?”

It’s not even a thought in Shiro’s head, merely instinct, that drives him to step forward, to press his palm to Keith’s cheek, to lean in low and quiet and wanting. 

A willing captive.

“I can’t even remember. . . “ he murmurs, enrapt. The corner of Shiro’s mouth curls, a smile blossoming as his eyes close. “But I know the last storm I stood in was nothing like this.”


End file.
